


No Voice to Cry Suffering

by MorphlingUnderscore



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), The Knight will be called Ghost eventually don't worry, The knight can speak it just sounds demonic and barely coherent so they try not to change my mind, What if the Knight left before the infection and also what if the world was NICE, can it be called that when Ghost is comforting themself most of the time?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorphlingUnderscore/pseuds/MorphlingUnderscore
Summary: Pain is not a new sensation.When the vessel was hatched, if such a word could describe their gruesome conception, their first sensation was pain. The pain of treading on broken shells. The pain of seeing light for the first time. The pain of climbing and jumping on crumbling rock with an infant-soft carapace. The pain of cutting themselves on sharp, jagged spikes. The pain of the first sight of their blood, their lifeforce, which they should never be able to see.Yes, this vessel was well accustomed to pain.The Knight discovers early on that the world is bigger than they think. What will happen to the Kingdom of Hallownest, what with a rogue vessel running around unsupervised? Only time will tell whether its influence will destroy Hallownest... or save it.
Relationships: Hornet & The Knight (Hollow Knight), The Knight & Quirrel (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 151





	No Voice to Cry Suffering

Pain is not a new sensation.

When the vessel was hatched, if such a word could describe their gruesome conception, their first sensation was pain. The pain of treading on broken shells. The pain of seeing light for the first time. The pain of climbing and jumping on crumbling rock with an infant-soft carapace. The pain of cutting themselves on sharp, jagged spikes. The pain of the first sight of their blood, their lifeforce, which they should never be able to see. The pain of not knowing what drove them to continue this torturous ascent. The pain of denial. The cold, confused stare of a sibling, the only one they have seen alive, save the ones in the process of dying. The booming song of a door sealed shut. The pain of falling for an eternity and a second.

Yes, this vessel was well accustomed to pain.

* * *

The second sensation the vessel felt was cold.

It was abstract and peculiar. Their tiny body, wracked with some sort of shaking sickness. They did not feel the cold right away. They supposed it was due to the warmth still lingering from that pale light.

Then the light was gone, and they were cold.

It was unpleasant, and made their carapace crawl. It twisted in their chest like a burrowing insect, and no matter how desperately they pawed at the sensation, it did not leave.

They had no concept of time. They only knew the word because it had been instilled, they assume. Regardless, time did not seem to pass correctly in this… home of theirs. There was no sun to track the days, no moon to mark the nights. The only sign that time was, in fact, passing, was the small, untainted stream that dripped through the cracks on the wall. The vessel learned quickly that, by observing the cracks progression, it meant that time must be passing.

They had no idea how much, of course, but it was relieving to know that such a deeply instilled idea was true, at least.

As they watched this time drip, the cold began to fade into the background. Sure, they still felt it, especially when they let themselves touch the water, or dared to take a drink - it was remarkably clean despite its surroundings. But when they sat for long enough, the cold shrank, replaced by something they instinctively knew was numbness. 

Numbness was not a feeling, and so they did not count it. It was the  _ absence _ , a  _ lack _ of sensation. Instead, they basked in its comfort, for not feeling was much more pleasant than its counterpart.

* * *

The third sensation the vessel felt was loneliness.

They were alone, they knew logically. For many wall cracks they did not question this. It was a fact of their universe. Water drips down the shortest path it can, cold was unpleasant and inferior to Numb, and they were alone.

They thought of their sibling and their blank, curious stare. There had been that pale light with them, and with it, warmth. Their sibling was not alone like they were. Surrounded by warmth and life, while the vessel was surrounded by cold and death.

_ Death _ . That was a new word that had popped into being. They looked at their feet, at the shells they walked on. They were full, before. Filled with infant-soft carapace and warmth from that pale light. Filled with minds, and souls.

Filled, until they were broken. Emptied. Discarded.

They were standing on dead siblings. This was a fact. There was no place to stand that had not been clogged by shattered shells and hopes. This was also a fact. The vessel was forced to walk on lives never lived while they continued to live their own life on a foundation of the fallen. Had there been more, before that fated closed door? Survivors, escaping into the universe beyond?

They were alone. This was a fact.

...They did not like this fact.

* * *

The fourth sensation the vessel felt was  _ fear _ .

When they had fallen, they had no concept of what it would feel like. They did not fear the fall, then. 

Yet, they had lived long, now, they think. Long enough for a crack to reach the floor. They had contextualized many things, now. They had realized it was dark, which had not been previously apparent, since they could see just fine. They had realized that many of their siblings had not lived long enough to form Regrets, and so would not be offended if the vessel moved them. They had slowly realized that they were made of something viscous and sticky, yet slippery all the same.

_ Void _ , their mind produced without warning. They were made of void. 

Void made up other things in their little universe. Occasionally, they saw black blotches, darker than the Dark, form, with piercing white eyes. They quickly disappeared, too weak to form for long without regrets to feed off of. Whenever one sprouted, the vessel ran to them with energy they did not have, and legs that did not easily work. 

When these blotches saw them, they reached out, and then vanished.

That was not fear, however.

Fear was the place beyond their siblings' shells.

They did not venture there often, soaked with some innate discomfort, much like how cold felt. When they did, they only peeked, and quickly ran back to their little home; a carefully constructed pile of masks, arranged just so that any sharp bits were not pointed upward, allowing the vessel a place to rest. Their siblings would not mind, even if they could. 

Finally, when the water dripped a little too loudly, they decided that they needed to explore their whole universe. And so they descended.

The strange, large mass of void was quiet. It did not drip like the water, nor did it crunch and clack like the masks. It simply… sat. Much like themselves, they supposed. A part of their mind wanted to return to their nest, scurry back like their chitin hadn't hardened many cracks ago. They did not listen, and stepped slowly, cautiously to this mass.

The void sprung to life as they reached only a few steps from its surface, limbs of the liquid reaching out to grab hold of them. Something icy yet hot seized them, squeezing a pitiful sound from them as they turned tail and fled like a coward.

Far enough away, they viewed the mass again, chest heaving. It was still, betraying no ill intent. A monster, lying in wait to devour them whole.

**_Fear_ ** , their mind supplied, thoughit did not feel like their own thought, shrouded in a silence so loud it deafened them. 

They did not revisit the void's deadly mass again.

* * *

After many cracks of time, many drops of water, they ceased counting these sensations. They did not stop cataloguing them, of course; proud of these new and exciting things. They had learned pride when they had carefully repaired a shattered mask like a puzzle, gently pasted together with their own sticky… ness. It sat atop their pile like a memorial, twin horns bent downwards from the forehead and then back up again. Excitement had come at the same time, what with a fully formed mask to relate to their own shape.

They had realized they could emit sounds, though faint and heavily distorted. These sounds were less like the dripping of water and more like the crackling of masks, or the strange not-silence of the void. They worked on their sounds whenever they did anything, and curiosity had bloomed at the strange yet complex voice they had.

Of course, they had never heard another voice before. Perhaps it was actually incredibly commonplace, to speak in masks and clicks and high-pitched frequencies? They had no clue.

They thought in words, and knew some. They were very hard to replicate, and they had felt a new thing; frustration. They had all the time in the universe, though, and overcoming issues with their strange voice was plenty to keep the boredom away.

Void was the easiest to replicate. The strange  _ v _ sound was a buzz that was easily substituted with a crackle of static. The  _ oi _ sound was more complex, as they had not many vowels in their arsenal. Eventually, though, bending the high frequency peeps suited it fine. The  _ d _ was the easiest, as it was close enough to a  _ t  _ that a  _ tack _ sound of masks clinking together worked.  _ Vvvvooooiiiidddd _ .  _ Void!  _

They felt accomplished. They felt  _ happy _ .

It was new, to feel cold yet content. They moved a lot more now, which seemed to stave off that numbness, unfortunately. But it was worth it to speak.

_ No voice to speak _ , they thought distantly, and once again their thoughts were not their own. They fizzled out a laugh, or an approximation of the sound. What an absurd thought! They had a voice, and they planned on using it as much as possible.

* * *

Their universe was very,  _ very _ quiet. Even the slightest sound roused them from their sleep, aside from the constant  _ drip drip drip _ of time. 

They woke to a faster tempo of their personal clock, confused. The water had never changed so drastically, before. They wonder what-

Their thoughts are cut off as the dripping becomes more and more excessive, until, finally, the wall gives way.

They are flung without warning in the deluge that follows. Cold seizes their little body, and time and space cease to be. They do not know up from down, and their chest screams for something unknown as they spin in the frantic current.

_ Breath _ , they realized in a daze. They cannot survive under the water.

The flow directs them and spins them, but with enough of their precious energy they are able to right themselves and breach the surface, gagging silently as water floods uncontrollably from their eye holes. They realize, then, fear seizing their little chest, that they are being driven straight into the jaws of the beast. The void's great mass awaits them hungrily, snapping viciously at the water as they drift closer, and they feel their fear turn hotter and hotter as panic sets in.

_ They have to get away _ .

As if the thought granted them the will to move, they shove desperately against the tide, fighting the current as they aim for the bank of familiar masks. They wait, and push, panic churning hot in their little chest as the darkness draws nearer. The pressure is letting up gradually. Not yet, not yet…  _ Now! _

They jump as the flow finally becomes lax enough to allow it, and right at the last possible moment; their leg nearly swallowed by the furious, starving depths of the void. It snaps at their heels like a feral animal, and they scramble away before it can snag a taste. They stare in shock as the void recedes, finally, and let out a breath they hadn't realized they had been holding. It rattles and hisses in their chest. As the shock begins to ebb, nausea takes its place. They keel over, water sloughing from their eyes, obscuring their vision and upsetting their delicate stomach. Then, with a few last coughs, it's over.

Their hands are shaking. In fact, their whole body is being ravaged by tremors, arms and legs weakened and angry at their impromptu exercise. They're decently sure that, if they tried to stand, they would fall flat on their mask. So instead they suck it up and crawl, and a new feeling settling heavy in their gut.  _ Exhaustion _ . 

The water's flow is no longer so aggressive, though it still churns endlessly forward. The void drinks it up like it has not tasted fresh water in eons, and perhaps it hadn't. Did the void need to drink? The vessel had to drink occasionally to combat the weakness they felt when they didn't. Then again, they weren't  _ pure _ void. They had a shell, which the void lacked.

Their nest has been destroyed, they discover sadly; it had been blasted across the ground when the water had first come charging through. Their proudest achievement, that whole, unbroken mask of their former sibling lies fractured and broken in the water. The vessel gently picks it up, only to find it falls apart in their hands. 

Sadness like they had never felt before rises in their chest, yawning and cavernous. Their head, which they had been struggling to hold up and survey the damage, finally falls and smacks dully onto the ground. Fragments of their sibling's mask escape swiftly in the river's current. If they tried to fix it again, it would never be whole. Their only whole sibling, though long dead and gone, is to be forgotten like the rest. Killed twice over.

Something slips down their cheek, and it takes a long moment to realize it is not water, still leaking from their body, but  _ void _ . Thin and slippery instead of dense and viscous, it drips from their eyes slowly at first, until it becomes a silent rainfall.

For once, no word of this sensation comes to mind. All they feel is exhaustion. Exhaustion, and a bone-deep sadness.

They are forced to mourn alone, nobody to comfort them as they kneel on the masks of thousands of dead siblings.

The numbness that seeps into them has never felt so welcoming.

* * *

They must have fallen asleep where they had laid, because they find themselves slowly coming back to the waking world. As usual, they wake to nothing, though the soreness is new. They don't know what had woken them in the first place, except perhaps the pain itself. They suppose they might have just… woken up? Like they had slept enough. It didn't feel like they did, though. Pale blue light glows softly on their face, and it makes it too hard to go back to sleep, unfortunately 

Wait.  _ Light? _

Jerking up all at once is a terrible idea, they realize as their muscles shriek in protest, but they don't allow something so trivial to distract them, eyes locked firmly on the glowing blue dot in front of them. It is small, much smaller than themselves, and flits in and out of focus, before returning to hovering right in front of them. It almost seems... curious, if something so small  _ could _ be. They do suppose that they are quite small themselves, and they definitely feel curiosity right now, so they see no reason why this speck can't.

They stand, much slower now, hissing static as the pain shoots vengefully through their body. They must have really pushed themselves in that fight with the water, to be hurting so bad. The dot flies backwards and up, revealing tiny, tiny wings holding it aloft. How interesting!

_ This is the first other creature they've met. _

The thought smacks into them with all the force of a rock. Excluding their sibling and the void, which were both sort of outliers, this is their first interaction with something new! The little thing is so unique, with its small wings and round little body. And it flits about in a way that makes a crooked kind of sense, which points to it being conscious in some manner. Carefully, so as not to startle it away again, they stretch their short arm out, suspending it in the air. Their muscles groan, but they don't allow the weakness to disrupt their mission. Their mission for… something.

The bug flies back, cautious to a possible threat. But the longer they remain still, it seems to relax, if such a small bug can, coming to a decision and landing on their outstretched finger, a pale blue speck against inky black.

It feels surprisingly tingly, and they rasp out a creaking laugh. The bug flies away, as if unnerved by the sound, but returns when they do not lunge for it.

_ A friend _ , their mind supplies helpfully. They giggle, rolling the word over in their head. Their tiny blue  _ friend _ doesn't leave them, too! Joy bubbles up tightly in their chest, threatening to choke them with how happy they are quickly becoming.

_ Settle down, settle down _ , they remind themselves firmly. If this little thing found their way into their home in the time since they fell asleep, they'd like to know if anything else drastic has changed.

Their universe has been… largely unchanged since the flood, much to their relief. The (now small) river continues to flow endlessly into the void, gobbled up at its surface. Their nest is still gone, and their sibling's mask still fractured. They carefully pick up the part that hadn't been reduced to tiny shrapnel; the horns, still firmly bound to the forehead, and the slightest hint of eyeholes. They suppose it's better than nothing- they could have lost the whole thing -but they're still upset. They hold it close to their little chest, and their friend circles their head like a silent observer. What time has passed since they've slept? They're lucky the water hadn't eroded the mask like it did the wall.

Unfortunately, any semblance of time had been destroyed when the wall caved in; their practiced system of cracks and droplets reduced to chunks of stone. They're only lucky they counted it all before resting. 

Behind the hole is… More hole.

At first, they are confused. There  _ were  _ a few small caves off of the main area; one which leads to an uncomfortable room filled with screaming statues, trapped in their moments of agony. The other one within reach went beyond the sea, so they had never explored it. This one, however, seems different. It feels lighter just looking at it, as if the ever-present fog of void did not hang so densely inside. Beyond that, it glows in much the same way as their little friend, pale blue and gentle. If they weren't so unused to any light, it would probably feel soothing to stare at. Right now, however, they are forced to look away when their eyes begin to sting. It seems like… like it isn't just some small cave, like it may continue much further than even the breadth of their own home. It brings up a terrifying yet tantalizing prospect; that they could  _ leave _ .

Maybe not totally, they correct themselves, in fear of their instinct being incorrect, but they couldn't help that bright hope. Their little friend had to have come from somewhere! If that somewhere was a small cave filled to the brim with small glowing flies, then that had to be enough. It  _ would _ be enough. And yet, still… The thought that their universe, the place they've been trapped in their whole life, could in fact be small in comparison to the worlds beyond…

They can't just up and leave, though. Not only would that be rude, it feels too sudden. They face the sea of death behind them, weighing their options with the indecisiveness of a hungry grub gifted several different fruit, and not knowing which to try first. No shades have formed in a… very long while, they know. The poor things are probably too exhausted to try for quite some time. Still, they didn't want to just leave their family  _ behind _ .

_ They would want you to _ , something thinks for him. They startle, glancing around as if that would reveal what figure spoke to them. It never does, and that doesn't change now. They ponder over that gifted thought, puzzled. Why would their family want them to leave? When no answer comes, they decide they are going to try something new.

_ "Why… want that?"  _ They garble out loud, struggling hard to enunciate properly with their strange voice. Their words ring silence into the air, demanding attention, and even the lake's non-sounds seem to quiet, if only for a moment. They wait tensely, beginning to feel shame tighten their throat. They don't know why that would work. They don't even have anything but a gut feeling telling them that this voice is not their own, and talking to themself will not get a new answer. They shrink into themselves.

**_You are lonely._ ** The voice replies, distinct. Their back goes ramrod straight, disbelieving.  **_They…are not._ **

Just like that, all sounds and not-sounds resume, and the vessel is left to grapple with this new knowledge. The voice, this voice they have heard yet not heard, had spoken so clearly that they swore they could feel each individual vibration it formed inside their mind. It  _ resonated _ , rather than spoke. And with its voice, it spoke truth into their head.

They  _ were  _ lonely. They had realized that long ago, but what they had not realized was that their siblings must not be as lonely as they are. Their siblings flitted from dream to dream, or whatever waited for them when they were not physical stains of their regrets. They might even be doing it all together, as they are so close in death that no means of separation could truly make them part. They had each other. The vessel? They… were alone. Their family would not want that for them, they decided. If given the chance to explore and find something new, their family of void and masks and death would want them to take that, grab it and never let go. They hold their sibling's broken shell tightly in their hands, and begin to pace. This is a  _ huge _ decision to make. They may not survive it, or there might not be anything  _ to _ survive; only stone walls and disappointment. But maybe they will live, and maybe it  _ will _ be a whole new world for them out there, or- or maybe even  _ more _ than that.

Their mind is made before their feet stop moving. They know what they need to do. 

Gently, they set their sibling's crest on the flattest surface they can find, giving it a little pat. Turning around and kneeling, they begin to search. Rummaging through the bodies of lost kin is not a pleasant experience, nor is it very polite, and they spend the time whispering static apologies as they shift soft corpses. They need something to hold onto; a part of home to take with, something less explicit than a skull-  _ aha! _

Careful, they pull out something soft and tattered. At first, they mistake it for… some kind of fabric? It feels like how they imagine silk must feel, so perhaps a silo garment? Then again, it's much too large for any body down here, not to mention that everyone else seemed to lack clothing like themself. The waxiness feels strange, as well, as if…

Oh.

It's wings.

At least one of their siblings had been gifted a set of gorgeous blue wings, which they can't help but imagine in awe. The sensation of flying through the air, the convenience of an extra pair of limbs! ...and they had never been allowed to fly with them. Before their chitin was hard enough to withstand such a fall, they had been denied even this small luxury of rescuing themself with their beautiful wings. They probably hadn't even known what they  _ were _ before they died. It feels wrong, and bile seems to settle in their throat, stinging at their eyes.

_ Well, if they never got to fly _ , the little vessel thinks grimly,  _ then they might appreciate their wings being useful even after death. _

The wing is surprisingly difficult to tear off, and it leaves them feeling awful and queasy once they finally manage to. The deed is done, though, and they find that the membrane is surprisingly tough, not even tearing from the sharp mask fragments that brush against it. They repeat the process, looking away. Once they have both freed and roughly whole, they overlap them and steal some sticky void from their eyes to secure them together. The wings are beautiful, a deep blue that clashes wonderfully with their own black and white carapace. Despite this, they know deep down this is going to take some getting used to. Taking a deep breath, they drape the wings over their shoulders, securing them loosely around their hips.

It… doesn't feel… totally unpleasant? They are a little floppier than they had hoped after layering them against each other, but anything is better than nothing. They wrap and tuck any extra bits inwards, experimenting with length and give, until, finally, the wing looks like a garment any bug could be seen wearing. 

Okay, no, not  _ any _ bug, but it doesn't look too offputting anymore.

They retrieve their sibling's crest, picking it up delicately. Their little blue friend has zipped off to who-knows-where, but the blue glow is still visible from the cave, which is encouraging. Carefully, they tuck the skull into their cloak, securing it firmly against the back of their neck. Where it rests, the horns sit comfortably on their shoulders, and only jostle when they move their arms upwards. It's probably as steady as they'll be getting it, anyway.

They look back at their dark home, one last time. It  _ is _ home, after all, even with all of the death. Even with the quiet. Even with the terrible, terrible cold.

Then, with finality, they tear themself away, climbing up, up, up into the hole, and into the unknown.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Hollow Knight fic, as well as my first on ao3, so you can imagine the kind of stress that I'm under!! I hope this was fun for you to read!


End file.
